


Dreamer Boy

by redluna



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/M, M/M, Memory Alteration, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world where Mal wasn't the one that Dom had tried inception on before. And yet the consequences are still disastrous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Some people made the mistake of thinking that Eames had forgotten everything, that he remembered nothing that came before the time that he was standing in front of them. Those were the people that didn’t seem to understand that there could be a difference between selective amnesia (of a sort, the doctors still weren’t entirely sure) and actual full blown amnesia. 

The people that were attached to that view tended to be those that had come to either visit someone on the inland or had just found the island through some stroke luck while on an impulse to be touristy. Those kind of people didn’t stay on the island long enough for their opinion to matter much to Eames anyway. There wasn’t any point in worrying about the people who he would never see again, after all.

It wasn’t like anyone on the island really kicked up a fuss about his condition. To them it was just his job as an artist to be eccentric—not that the island wasn’t that all on its own.

It was a little hunk of land floating amongst the crystalline waters of the Mediterranean Sea that no one knew quite what to do with. Greece had claimed it eventually since it was right at the outskirts of its territory and the residents had accepted this with the same kind of lazy easy with which they had accepted all those who took ownership before. There was no real sign of the ruling country anyway, besides for the occasional enforced government law and the odd Greek flag being flown. Besides for that, the inhabitants of the island were mostly left to govern themselves. 

Eames had come here after fleeing from the noise of what had once been his main residence in Mombasa. He had to say “main residence” since there was more than one as he was quick to find out, scattered throughout the world with not a single one being the same as the other. His mind provided him with enough brief flashes of memory for him to understand just why such a thing was a necessity.

He had been a criminal, and a damn good one at that, if the huge amounts of money piled up in multiple bank accounts was any estimate. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he had done, only that it involved stealing things. There were times that he doubted whether any of this was the case, however, since the hints of things that came to him often seemed entirely impossible. 

Maybe his mind was just trying to invent an exciting past for him? 

Eames had tried not to dwell on it for long, in the end. The money had been all that he wanted, really, since it meant that he could get out of Mombasa as quickly as possible. The place was far too crowded, the kind of place that a person went to in order to blend in and the thought of that made his hair stand on end. 

England hadn’t been any better since he had still felt as out of place there as ever, despite being one of the few able to lay claim to an actual title. The cold had a way of seeping into his bones while he was there so that he was never able to get completely warm, no matter how hard he tried. And there were too many bad memories there anyway. His parents were dead in a car crash before he was even a month and his grandmother, the one who had provided for him, had died years ago.

There was no family or anyone else left there to give him some sort of clue as to who he had been so on he went.

He had just kept wandering until he wound up on the island, really. It had a name, actually, but it was constantly changing with whatever country decided that it was now theirs. If you were to stay on the island for long enough you would learn to ramble off the Greek name easily enough. Only the eldest people on the island seemed capable of remembering what the original name had been before it all and that was considered too sacred to be used throughout common conversation. So for all those that came to settle on the island it was just known as “our island”. 

It was only fitting, after all, since it really did belong to solely to those that chose to remain atop it, despite the allure of more cosmopolitan areas close at hand.

For Eames, among others, the place had presented itself as a safe haven of sorts. It had been beautiful right from the start, all mismatched houses all done up in bright shades and surrounded by a sea that was like someone had taken a spoonful of food coloring to make it. The whole place came alive with all the different lives that thrived upon it. No one person was the same, which left it even more fascinating to Eames.

The house he claimed for himself was settled towards the right end of the island where the land started to slope upwards into a hill of sorts. The older residents had insisted that a young gentleman like himself should be living in the main part of the town instead, but that was something Eames couldn’t quite bring himself to do.   
He loved being able to socialize and explore the island from top to bottom, to be sure, but there was something about returning to a place that was removed and just his that brought him a certain measure of relief.

Besides, he got the sun first in the morning, shining through the large, wide windows of the house and turning the whole space aglow. The near constant breeze seemed to always hit his house first as well, carrying with it the scent of the sea. It was a crisp, clean smell that made him feel a strange longing for something—or someone—and caused him to thrust the windows wide so that it would permeate the house. It brought him a strange sort of peace to fall asleep wrapped up in sheets that carried such a smell.

He had met Eva on one of his frequent trips into the town while sitting outside one of the little restaurants that could have almost have been a café if it tried. His sketchbook had been propped up on his knee as he tried to catch the exact way that one of the waitress’s dark curls—escaped from her braid—had fallen down against her neck in almost a caress. 

He had barely had a chance to lift his pencil again before the sketchbook was snatched from his hands by one of the most alluring women he had ever encountered. A part of his mind had snapped into action, trying to record details, such as the smoldering quality of her ever so rounded blue eyes and the confident upward curve of her mouth, as though for further use. 

“Ooh, aren’t you a talented one?” 

Eames should have been mad at her, really, but there was something about the way her voice curled around the words—French accent turning everything somehow smoky and musical at the same time—that made him want to curl up in her instead. There was the possibility that it had been some trigger from his past—probably was, really—but since it had gotten him Eva, Eames couldn’t bring himself to regret the way it had affected him. 

The blue eyes had flashed up towards him now, ever so slightly hooded. “You could make a good deal of money off of such a talent.”   
Her lips spread into an easy, wide smile. “I can think of more than one person around here who would pay well for such a thing.” She rose her thin, dark eyebrows in a gesture that was far too elegant to belong to a completely human being. “Actually I do believe I’m going to have to convince you to show me more.”

And she had went on to convince Eames into just that by plopping down at his table to ply him with cups of wonderfully bittersweet hot chocolate and still warm, flaky stuffed éclairs to ease the sharpness away.

It was through her that his little business of sorts had begun. She had been determined that Eames should try to take work on commission or at least sell some of his pieces. It was a conversation they had fallen into while in the market square, strolling along with arms linked together, and when he tried to refuse she had just let her voice grow steadily louder until everyone knew about Eames’ talent anyway. 

She had commissioned Eames herself not long after that, only vaguely requesting a piece that would remind her of home. Eames had worked as hard as he could on drawing up what he had in the way of memories of France in order to create the piece. He knew he had been there before, after all, once as a little boy with his grandmother and again when he was older, all grown up. It was the latter that he couldn’t fully remember and that made him ache as though he had forgotten something terribly important.

That was how he felt about just about everything nowadays, though, so he hadn’t let himself dwell on it for long.

Some of it must have come out in his painting, though, since Eva had gasped upon seeing it before bursting into tears and burying herself in his arms without warning. She had gone on to show the piece off to everyone who came to her house and talked about it to anyone in the village who would stand still long enough.

So, in the end, Eames had people coming forth for commissions whether he liked it or not.

It had helped to provide him with a little bit of pocket change, anyway, and since it wasn’t his main source of income (trust fund boy that he was) he could charge far more reasonably than other artists might. And within the year Eva was returning from a trip to Greece, babbling about how some gallery there was begging for his artwork.

Perhaps it was through the business itself that Eva became his friend, but Eames liked to think that it would have happened one way or another. There was just something between the two of them that drew them together, twining them together so firmly that there was never a possibility of letting go. 

It was something that village had accepted in stride, like it did with all things. Eames had jolted in surprise when the elderly lady who ran the fruit stand asked after “his” Eva, but it wasn’t long before he had started to use it himself. He fell into the habit of asking people where his “lady” was and had burst out laughing when he found out that Eva had responded upon hearing of this by puffing out her cheeks and saying, “Well, if my boy wants to know…”

Everyone was convinced that it was a friendship that would develop into a outright relationship before long. He was pretty sure there was even a betting pool of some sort going around based on some of the probing questions he had received around town. He had to press his lips together so not to laugh at their barely concealed pouts when he had to tell them that, despite how lovely Eva was, they were still just friends. 

Eva would occasionally bemoan the fact that so many men seemed wary of flirting with her now since they all feared Eames’ retaliation, but Eames knew she didn’t really mind it. 

And yet, despite it all, he wasn’t at all surprised when Eva pressed her lips to his while he was washing up after dinner one night. It had nothing to do with romance, not really. It was just that there was no one on the world that the other found they could trust as much as the other.

And it wasn’t as though Eames didn’t want it. He was fairly sure that no one could stop themselves from wanting Eva in some way. He had murmured out so much against the curve of her neck while he pushed inside of her, causing her answering laugh to come out more than a bit breathless around the edges. 

She had wound up with her head resting on his lap after that, the grand expanse of her hair spilling out across the white of the sheets like ink. The two of them had wound up sharing cigarette after cigarette like that while finally giving in once and for all and explaining in detail the life stories that they only ever hinted at in the past.   
It seemed that everyone who had settled on the island from somewhere else had been in a desperate search for somewhere to start a new life and Eva was no different.

“I was a prostitute.” She closed her eyes as her lips curled around the cigarette. Eames didn’t think it had anything to do with hiding pain, however, since she spoke it as casually as though there was nothing that set such an occupation apart from anything else. “And a damn good one at that.” She sighed now, smoke leaving her lips in a gush. “That probably sounds like a disgusting thing to be proud of, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t being told my whole life that my looks could get me far. I mean, it’s like you said—people just get hooked by me. And I liked sex.” She snorted. “If anyone was being honest with themselves than they would admit the same thing.”

Eames had to give her that, really. “What changed then?” he asked. “Unless you’re still…?”

Eva’s eyes snapped open at that. “Oh, no, no.” Her brow knitted together as she pointed an accusing finger up at Eames. “And don’t you dare think that was the reason why I slept with you. I…I like you.” Her cheeks flared up with a faint shade of pink. “And I know you like me so I figured there was no reason not to do it.”

Eames reached down to take the cigarette from her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before straightening back up to smoke for a bit more. “I’m not going to fault you for it, love. I think you would have been able to tell if I didn’t want it too, after all.”

It had been so long since he had let himself get lost inside of another person’s body, especially that of someone he truly cared for.

The only problem had come when he had found himself feeling Eva’s soft, round curves and wishing for ones that were harder, somehow more angular. He was certain that that was an oddity that could be laid strictly at his own doorstep, however, so he didn’t bring it up.

He never seemed to need to say something for Eva to already know it. He could feel her fingers in his hair as he leaned over to rub out the cigarette.

“Should I bring you a man next time?” Her laughter escaped from her in a long, high trill as Eames actually jumped in an unconscious show of surprise. “I knew it!” she crowed.

“But won’t that make you…” Eames had to cough to regain proper control of his voice. “Won’t that make you jealous?”

Eva’s eyes were sparkling with a combination of warmth and mirth as she reached up to brush her fingers across his cheek. “Why should I be? None of them will really have you. Not like I do.” A small smile played across her lips as Eames leaned into her touch, proving her point without meaning to do so. “There’s only one other person in the world who I would truly share you with anyway.”

Eames raised his eyebrows in a wry sort of interest at this. “Is that so? And will I ever get to meet this mystery man?”

“Perhaps.” Eva slid her hand upwards into Eames’ hair so that she could pull him down into a kiss, rising her head up to meet him.   
“But for now I think we’re both ready for a second round, hm?”


	2. Chapter 2

No matter how he fell asleep the night before Arthur always managed to wake up facing the empty side of his bed. It was as though he was unconsciously trying to search out his bed partner, somehow not being able to remember that that person hadn’t been there for years now.

But that wasn’t something that Arthur wanted to think about. Or at anytime, really, but that didn’t stop the memories from invading anyway.

Arthur pushed himself up from the bed with a sigh, directing his mind back to the routine instead. It was the best way of coping he had found so far, after all. Perhaps because having to focus on the details of it didn’t give his mind too much time to think about anything else.

And he hadn’t been working himself into the ground, despite anything Mal might say. He was pretty sure that he had been dragged into this whole arrangement in Paris so that she could force him into a respite of sorts. He had thought about complaining to her about it before thinking better. After all, if he got through this it would at least put her off his case for a little while.

If she tried to hook him up with someone, however, than he couldn’t promise that he would maintain his composure. It wasn’t like there were any shortage of people for him to pick up when he wanted someone to tumble into bed with in any part of the world that he traveled to.

There were times when he would wonder if one of his hook ups could turn into something more, if he could have someone to wake up with tender kisses and breakfast in bed before they had to start out on their day; together, always together. But the moment he would try to imagine it his mind would instantly be filled with memories of a bulky British man standing in his kitchen, pressing a mug of coffee into his hands with a brilliant smile before whispering, “Darling,” into a kiss pressed to the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

He couldn’t be that way with anyone else. And he knew he couldn’t because the only the one he wanted to be with like that was Eames.

But Eames was gone. Eames had been gone for five years.

\---

The warehouse was already filled with its usual occupants by the time Arthur arrived, which made him frown. He tended to like to be the first one there so that he could prep the space in question to his standards, making sure that his teammates would have everything they needed on their selected desks by the time they came in. That was the job of a point man, after all, or at least the job of a good one.

“Am I late?” he asked as he approached the little circle of chairs. He arched a brow as their heads all whipped towards him almost as one. 

Mal was the first to speak, of course, just like always. “Oh, no, Arthur, of course not!” She flashed him a smile, quick and gleaming. “We just wanted to get started a little early.”

Arthur wished that he knew some way of probing around her expression so that he could know whether she was telling the truth or not. It gave off all signs of being impenetrable, but there had to be a chink in it somewhere. Eames would have been able to find it in a heartbeat, would probably have leaned over to whisper it Arthur’s ear later with a grin...

Fuck. 

Arthur took a deep breath, refocusing himself by directing himself towards Ariadne, the college student that this whole thing was focused around. 

He would admit that he had had his reservations when Mal had called him to inform him of someone who was basically still just a kid and how she needed to be trained right away before anyone else had the chance to get their hands on her. The only thing that had convinced him to come out had been the fact that Mal’s father, Miles, had been the one who had vouched for the girl. Miles had been the one who had showed them all how to use the PASIV back when it was still for research purposes, so if he said that something was good when it came to the business Arthur tended to trust him.

Mal had made it pretty damn clear that she would fly out to New York City herself to drag him kicking and screaming to Paris if he tried to turn the offer down as well.

And after meeting Ariadne, Arthur found that he couldn’t really regret his decision to come. She was everything that Mal had promised and more. Arthur really didn’t think he had ever seen someone integrate themselves into the dream world that fast.

Well, except perhaps with Eames, but that had been with forging not architecture and he wasn’t suppose to be thinking about the man so that didn’t matter.

He offered her a small smile, unable to stop it from widening when she returned it at full force. “So whose head are we taking you into today?” he asked. 

He should have known that he wasn’t going to like the answer when Ariadne’s smile dropped from her face and her eyes bounced anxiously from Dom to Mal to back again.

Dom leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his face. “We were thinking of going into yours, Arthur.” He shot Arthur a glance, brow crinkling slightly. “Is that, okay?” 

The laugh Arthur let out in response to that question felt as brittle as it sounded. “Do I really have a choice in that?” He sighed, feeling a bit bad when Ariadne squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the situation as a whole. “No, no, it’s fine. You need to get all the experience you can with different kinds of dreamscapes anyway, Ariadne.”

“If you’re sure…” Ariadne snapped her mouth shut the instant Arthur nodded at her sharply. She was the clever sort that picked up on things quickly, so she knew how to read him by now. 

Arthur got the feeling that Eames would have liked that about her, only to feel like punching himself immediately after.

He was so very, very done with this.

\---

Arthur wasn’t all that surprised when the busy streets of New York City unfurled around them after Dom had pressed down the button on the PASIV. He didn’t even react when Mal bumped her shoulder against his. 

“Feeling homesick, Arthur?” At least this he was able to read, capable of hearing the hint of worry beneath the teasing tone.

“Perhaps,” was all Arthur would say. He knew that that hadn’t helped her worries at all by how her brow furrowed, but he really couldn’t help it. He did miss the city, after all, but at the same time being back there was rather like torture because of all the bits of   
Eames that still lingered around the apartment. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of throwing them away and he knew from   
Eames that there would be no one to send them too anyway.

Mal turned away from him with a huff, dark curls bouncing off her shoulders. “I suppose we should go find Dom and Ariadne then.” She glanced at Arthur out of the corner of her eye before extending her arm. 

Arthur managed half of a smile as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, which made her smile at least. 

They didn’t attract much attention as they walked down the street, blending into the other smartly dressed people without even trying. It was something that Arthur liked since it meant that he got to take in as much of the scenery around them as he wanted (alright, so maybe he was more than a little home sick after all).   
It meant that he didn’t even realize that something was wrong until he heard Mal gasp at his side and felt her nails digging into his arm.

His head snapped towards her immediately, body already tensing in preparation to go on the defense or offense depending on what was necessary. “What is it?” he asked. He raised his voice when Mal didn’t answer him immediately. “Mal, what is—”

“Nothing!” Mal rose her head to look at him, a too bright smile plastered to her face. “I just realized that we were going the wrong way. Dom is sure to have brought Ariadne to Central Park. You know how fond of it he is. So why don’t we just…”  
She was babbling Arthur noticed, which was the first sign that something really was wrong. The next sign came when she tried to straight out drag him so that he would turn around to walk in the other direction. 

Arthur planted his feet firmly on the ground ignoring Mal’s sharp hiss of, “Arthur!” to twist his body back to see what lay in wait for them on the street ahead.

Mal was actually clawing at his jacket now with both of her hands, sending a button flying free as she fought to gain enough leverage to turn him around. “Arthur, please, you don’t want to see it. Just turn back around. We need to go now. We really, really do. Arthur, please!”

But Arthur couldn’t hear her anymore because a strange sort of rushing noise had filled his ears, like the fierce rhythm of a waterfall but somehow even stronger. 

Ariadne was standing at the end of the street with Dom, but she had stopped to talk to a projection. A projection that was making her laugh so much that she actually wound up tossing her head back while clutching at her sides. 

And the projection was grinning at her with those beautiful, full lips that Arthur knew so well. The clothes were even the last ones that Arthur had seen on that day before Eames had headed off for that damn job, a suit that had very obviously come store brought from how it wasn’t tailored, straining against the broad shoulders and bulky chest. Arthur could remember going into a lecture while selecting one of his ties to go with it so that there could at least be something that looked good about it. He had been laughed at and kissed before being told…being told…

The projection was Eames. Eames. And he was standing at the end of the street as though he was just another harmless part of Arthur’s subconscious. 

As Arthur watched Eames—no, no, the projection—lolled his head to the side, smile turning into a smirk when he saw who was watching. Arthur felt his stomach rolling at the same time his throat tightened when the projection winked at him and then its mouth was starting to form the words—the last words Eames had ever said to Arthur. 

“I love you, my darling.”

Arthur was whipping out his gun, forcing it so hard into his mouth that he chipped a tooth and pulled the trigger before Mal could stop him.

\---

Arthur woke up panting, out of breath, on the lawn chair not even a moment after, sweat rolling off every inch of his skin and turning it clammy. He was already ripping the canola out of his arm by the time the others woke up, relishing in the sting that came with it and paying no attention to the pinprick of blood that emerged.

“Arthur? Are you—”

Arthur batted Mal’s hand away when she tried to place it against his forehead, bursting up from his lawn chair. He didn’t stop until he was at his desk, shoving desperate fingers into his pocket until they curled around the cool, plastic feel of his dice. He tossed it down onto the desk so hard that it bounced, but it still came up on four. He rolled it again and then again and again, not able to feel any measure of comfort when it came up on the same number each time.

A ragged laugh escaped from him. Maybe he should be hoping that this was the dream instead. After all, if it were than he could still have Eames with him, couldn’t he? The forger wouldn’t be a dead body rotting away in some unknown place. He would be here, here with Arthur like he belonged.

He snatched the dice up from the table when he heard the others approaching. No one was suppose to see the trick that was a part of your totem, after all. That was the whole reason why you weren’t suppose to check it in front of people. Not that Arthur had had much of a choice in this matter.

“Arthur, is everything okay?” Arthur wasn’t sure if the fear in Dom’s voice came from having to approach him in such a state or the situation as a whole. “I know it seems bad now, but it’s not like—”

 

Arthur whirled around at that—he had to—while trying to ignore just how much it made his head spin to do so. “It’s not like what, Dom? Eames was there. Eames was there inside my fucking head!”

Dom, to his credit, didn’t flinch under the force of those words. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. This could just be a one time thing, you know? Maybe you just need to work on thinking about something else for a while.”

“I have been,” Arthur muttered. He had been trying so fucking hard, but it was as though everything in his life reminded him of Eames in some way whether large or small. It was like the man was as determined not to be blocked out in death as he had been in life.

He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Just… Just give me a chance to sort it out, okay? I promise to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“We can help you,” Mal said. “This isn’t something you have to face alone, Arthur.”

Arthur felt his throat tightening again and he had to blink rapidly so he wouldn’t wind up crying. “I know, I just want to try it on my own at first. If I can’t fix it then I promise to come to you.”

Mal regarded him for a long, drawn out minute, examining every bit of him that she could before striding forward to wrap her arms around him. “Alright, mon brave garçon. I only ask of you to be careful.”

Arthur swallowed thickly, knowing just what it was she meant without her having to say—“Don’t get lost in the dream and forget to live.”

“I will, Mal, I promise.” He gave her one tight squeeze before offering up what he could manage of a smile for Dom and Ariadne.

He was glad that no one else made any efforts to reassure him on his way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Eames had started painting almost as soon as he was out of bed. He had only paused to get some breakfast into his system through the way of toast and a cup of tea. Then he was tugging a worn white short sleeved shirt on over his head because he didn’t plan on walking around his house in his boxers all day even if he could easily get away with it.

And even then he went through all of these actions with a rather agitated haste that only started to settle down once he was in front of his easel. 

He had had another dream, not that was that strange of an occurrence. Most of the time it felt like he hadn’t _stopped_ dreaming since he had wound up in his current state. He clung to each one he received, however, trying to ground them in his memory in whatever way possible because he was absolutely sure that they had to bits from the chunk of time that was missing from what he knew of his life. 

There were some that made no sense whatsoever, such as the ones where his body would suddenly shift into another, more feminine one in a way that felt entirely natural. Or the ones where the layout of the dream would just shift in the most impossible ways around him (and yet that never once unnerved him while in the dream).

The ones that he treasured the most, however, were the ones of the man who hovered around the edges of his mind even when he was awake. Eames had kept forgetting what the man looked like until he had snatched his sketchbook up after awaking from a dream in the dead of the night and determinedly drew out every detail of the man’s face that was still within his mind.

He didn’t have a name for either the face or the body that went with it, but every detail of it was gorgeous. The man was one of angles and sleekness, like a jungle cat stalking through the dead of night. But Eames had dreamt of his smile before and knew that real happiness made his whole face soften and a set of dimples flash.

This particular dream had been one of the more heated ones, which, if Eames were honest with himself, were among his favorites. 

There had been hands moving all over his skin, followed shortly after by lips until the fingers were finally sliding inside of him instead with a lovely voice purring into his ear.

It went without saying that he had brought himself off the instant he woke up, he thought.

He wasn’t painting anything that explicit, though. He just wanted to capture the warm, softness that had come across the man’s face right before Eames had woken up. There was a part of Eames that wondered if that was what the man looked like when he was in love, yet at the same time he hoped that wasn’t the case.

After all, if the man was in love with Eames, or at least had been, than he must have been crushed to have lost Eames. But it was stupid to feel that way since if the man really did care so much about him than he would have tracked Eames down by now.   
Eames had to wonder if the strange, beautiful man was just a figment of his imagination. Perhaps he had just been some sort of one night stand or someone that he had once been in love with and it was imaginings that were working their way into his mind.

That seemed rather pathetic, however, so Eames tried not to focus on it any longer, throwing himself into his work. 

He managed to throw himself into it so completely, actually, that he didn’t even hear the knock on the door. Or the footsteps that followed after it until someone was clearing their throat gently and sending Eames almost shooting out of his skin.

Eames whirled around to face…a man. Okay, scratch that, a handsome man, who was currently staring at him with wide blue eyes and holding up his hands in a gesture of some sort of surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was a deep, easy roll taken in part from his American accent and the sound was somehow enough to make Eames start to relax without even realizing it. “I wouldn’t have even come in if Eva hadn’t told me that you knew I was coming.” His forehead crinkled when Eames stared back at him blankly. “She did tell you I was coming, didn’t she?” He slapped a hand to his face with a groan. “She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. Son of a bitch…”

A laugh slipped free from Eames before he could help it, although he made an effort to press his lips together when the man shot him a glance out of he corner of his eye. “Sorry,” he managed to get out, “it’s just…just…that sounds like something that Eva would definitely do.”

Just the corners of the man’s mouth twitched at first, but then he was smiling full and wide, and Eames felt something strangely warm settle in his stomach. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? Although if Eva hasn’t introduced me I guess I’ll have to do it myself.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand once he got close enough. “My name is James—James Lawton if we want to get real specific.” 

Eames reached out to curl his hand around the one offered out to him. He could feel the toughness of the skin as it pressed up against his own and the rush of heat that came from it. “I’m Eames,” he said.

James raised his eyebrows at him, although his tone was teasing. “Just Eames? And here I even gave you a last name.”

“Eames is my last name,” Eames replied. “My first name is something ridiculous and poncy sounding. You’re not gonna be able to hear it without laughing.”

James folded his arms over his chest with a determined expression. “Try me,” he said.

Eames just shook his head with a sigh. “Alright, but you asked for it.” He made sure to keep his face completely deadpanned as he said, “Rupert.”

To his credit, James was able to keep his face straight for about half a minute, which was more than most people usually managed.   
“Oh, my God, that makes me think of a _teddy bear_!” He had to cough in order to stop himself from laughing, but his eyes were still twinkling with amusement. 

And Eames really shouldn’t be thinking about how much more attractive that made him.

He was completely unprepared for James to take a step forward and actually poke him in the stomach, however. “You’re even a little soft too.” He paused then added, “Not too much, though,” as though Eames might take affront at his words. 

Eames wasn’t entirely sure what to think when James’s eyes moved across his body, but he wasn’t left to wonder for long. “Never had a teddy bear as handsome as you, though.” And Eames didn’t think he was imagining the way that the other man’s voice dropped a few octaves at that.

That, of course, was when the clicking of heels announced the arrival of Eva. She arched a brow at the sight of the two men and   
Eames blushed as it made him realize just how close James was to him. 

When Eva did speak, her tone was a dry drawl. “You move even faster than I remember, James Lawton.” Her lips slid into a dainty little smirk when James leaped back from Eames.

James rubbed a hand across his face. “God _damn_ , Eva, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Oh, shush, James,” Eva shot back, “it’s precisely because I _do_ know you that this isn’t such a surprise. You were a hooker the same as me after all.”

James rolled his eyes toward the ceiling at this point. “I was an _escort_ , Ev, we’ve been through this.”

Eva waved her hand in a little dismissive circle. “A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. Or fuck as good in this case.”   
The smirk was back on her face—wider this time—as she turned towards Eames at last. “So what do you think, Eames? Does he meet with your approval?”

“Meet with my…” Eames’ eyes flew wide as he finally put two and two together, his mouth hanging open for just a second before he was snapping back at Eva. “Eva, you have got to be kidding me! Is this seriously suppose to be the one guy you’d share me with?”

He felt his cheeks flush with heat when James snorted in response. “If it makes you feel better that’s exactly how she described you to me,” the man said. He cocked his head to the side. “Unless you would rather keep her all to yourself. That’s fair too, although I was rather looking forward to—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Eames cut in. “I really don’t mind at all!”

James could manage to do little more than blink at Eames for a minute. “You didn’t even let me finish.” He looked down at Eva while 

Eames flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, who simply spread out her hands to him.

“I told you he was like this,” she said, as though to remind him of some conversation that Eames hadn’t been privy to.

And then James was shooting Eames a sideways look that had something in it that sent a tingling sensation right down Eames’ spine. 

“And here I thought you were exaggerating.”

\---

Eames figured that he shouldn’t be surprised that Eva had already planned a party of sorts to mark James’s arrival on the island. This, of course, meant loaves of fresh bread cut up into small little pieces to stack with every kind of cheese, meat, and occasionally fruit available. Eva had never been especially good at cooking (something she let Eames undertake more often than not) but she made up for it with her excellent taste in wine.

It was a red bottle of wine containing the tart, sweet taste of apple and the contrasting tang of cinnamon that got passed around the three of them this time. The flow of conversation because increasingly more free with each glass that was drunk. And then Eva was pulling out another bottle; white wine this time that tasted of pears and made Eames’ head spin.

It was almost halfway through this bottle that Eva fell back against the mound of pillows they had grouped around them like a private little nest. Her words came out slurred when she spoke, French accent even more prominent. “You two… You two need to fuck.” Her laugh was high pitched and girly, more like a giggle than anything else. “It would be so good.”

James’s face was completely unreadable as he offered up two long blinks. “Are you sure Eames even wants to do that?” he asked.  
Even in his drunken state, Eames noticed that James didn’t include himself in that question.

“Oh…n—nu-uh!” Eva leaned forward, pointing a finger at James that remained straight despite how lopsided her grin was. “You already like Eames just like I do. Knew you would. Knew you were gonna be the same way with him you were with me. Same way I was with him and with you.” Her eyes shifted over to Eames, her face softening in a way that it almost never did when sober. “You want him right from the moment you see him, but you don’t know how much until he talks and then you just fall right in—”

James actually covered Eva’s mouth before the rest of the words could come out, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s enough, Eva,” he said. “There are some things he doesn’t need to know yet.”

Eva was pouting when James lowered his hand, falling back against the pillows with a happy little sigh. “If you say so, but he’ll find out soon enough.” She let her head fall to the side, leaving her hair fanning out across the bits of at least two pillows as she did so.   
“So are you going to take him here where I can watch or would you rather it be a private show?”

Eames was being lifted to his feet before he even realized entirely what was happening.

“Private,” James said. “We can save the other stuff for later.”

Eames was able to heart Eva’s answering high, trilling laughter as he was drawn back to the bedroom. “Ooh, so there will be a ‘later’   
then?” was the last thing he heard before the door closed. 

Then all he could think about was how he had James in his bedroom of all places, which meant there was a _bed_ and that meant that there could be…

Eames started at the gentle brush of knuckles against his cheek. His eyes darted up to find James’s lips quirking up into a small, soft smile. 

“You know we don’t have to do this right?” the other man said. “It doesn’t matter what Eva said.” He rolled his shoulders into a shrug that’s graceless roll was ruined a little by all the alcohol rushing through James’s system by now. “I’d be happy just to kiss you, really.” 

It probably meant something along the lines of it having been too long (at least with a guy) that just that was enough to make heat start pooling in his belly. Some of it had to have shown in his face since James was leaning in to seal their lips together and that was just _glorious_. 

Kissing Eva—or any other woman for that matter—was always lovely, but those sort of kisses were always rounded out by some sort of softness whereas the kisses he received from men always had a hint or more of roughness, which was perfect for a man who had always liked a bit of pain and danger.

That was one of the few things that hadn’t changed between him and his former self it would seem.

Eames made a small sound as he fell back down onto the bed to find himself being covered by James’s body hardly a handful of seconds later. “Sorry, it’s just.. I haven’t been able to…not with a…in a…” The rest of his babbling was lost in another kiss, softer than the one that had come before, meant to soothe, not enflame.

“We’ll take it slow then,” James said. Then he was starting to tug off his clothes, leaving Eames to stare in wondrous admiration at everything that was revealed until James laughed and reached down to help him out of his own clothes. “Next time I’ll do a striptease for you, or maybe Eva and I both can. Would you like that?” 

He caught Eames’ mouth with his own at the frantic nod he received. Their teeth clacked together, but even that was welcome since it made Eames feel grounded to the event even more than he had had before.

He gasped a little against the first slicked up finger to press inside him, but James was true to his word and made sure to take it slow.   
Besides, the alcohol helped to loosen up his muscles to the point that it wasn’t hard to take another and another into him when the time came. And it certainly helped matters that James seemed on a mission to hit his prostrate with each twist of his fingers.

Eames was able to realize vaguely that he was pleading for something, but he wasn’t able to focus enough to realize what it was until he felt James’s cock pushing inside him in a slow burn and, oh, yes, that was just what he had been wanting.

He wished he could focus more because he was good at sex—he knew he was—but his brain had already been shot by all the wine he had consumed if not just the pleasure racing through his system. So he thought he could be forgiven if he was turned into an incoherent mess.

James seemed to like it, anyway, from the way his hands tightened hard enough on Eames’ hips to leave bruises later. Eames couldn’t really bring himself to mind that last bit, though, since it gave James all the better leverage to thrust into him as hard as he would like. 

An actual whine escaped him when Eames took advantage of the way that he had tipped his head back to attack his neck with his mouth and teeth. 

“ _Fuck_ , Eames,” James groaned. “Do you have any idea what you… Want this… Want you…”

And that perhaps was what pushed Eames over the edge with a shout, squirming around on the bed afterwards when James thrust into him a few more times before coming himself. It wasn’t until he felt the wetness seeping into him (and out of him after James pulled out) that he realized that he should have made James wear a condom. 

There was something about that feeling that made him feel soothed anyway, or rather owned.

The man from his dreams flashed before his eyes without warning and he felt a sudden swell of guilt, although he couldn’t be sure why.

He wasn’t able to dwell on it for long, though, because James was flopping down besides him and pulling him into his arms not long after.

“We should get cleaned up,” Eames mumbled. He knew it wasn’t really a serious warning, however, since he was already curling up into James’s hold. His eyes slid shut at the press of lips against his forehead.

“It will keep until the morning,” James said. And Eames fell asleep to the soothing of hands across his back.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur wasn’t the type of person to delay something important, especially when it was with something that he wasn’t looking forward too. He knew that if he tried to put off something that fell into that category then it would only be all the worse when he finally did deal with it. 

Even then, however, he still wound up holding off on dealing with the problem at hand until that night when he resolutely put the PASIV down on his bed. He thought that he could be forgiven for that, though, since it wasn’t like he hadn’t been using the time he hadn’t been hooked up productively.

He had been trying to find some way to steel himself against what he was going to have to go through. There was a small, pathetic part of him that was actually excited at the prospect of seeing Eames again after so long, but he slapped that side of him into firm submission by reminding himself that it wasn’t Eames that he was going to be seeing. 

This was a projection of Eames he was dealing with, a projection created from his own subconscious, which meant that it would only be the parts of Eames that he had known. And while that had been a great deal, he would never be able to recreate Eames exactly because he hadn’t actually been able to crawl inside the man’s head and learn everything about him. 

Not that he hadn’t wanted to towards the end. It seemed his compulsion to know everything only grew worse after he fell so deeply for a person.

He could remember telling Eames late one night while tracing designs gently onto his chest that he wished he could take Eames apart like some sort of machine and then put him back together again. That way he could see for himself exactly what Eames’ inner workings were like and know just how every part of him was suppose to fit with the other.

He had been worried that Eames would find such an idea disturbing, but instead the other man had just laughed, voice entirely too fond and perhaps a little teasing when he suggested that Arthur might be just a little bit obsessed with him. The tenderness in the sex that followed after had suggested that Eames hadn’t minded this one bit, however. As a matter of fact, Arthur had it on good authority that Eames was most likely as obsessed as he was.

That wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on now as he slid the needle into his arm, however. He was going to have to remain as detached from the situation on hand as much as possible if he was going to succeed. And that was already enough of a problem as it was.

So he took a deep breath before reaching out to press down on the button as he laid back down on the bed.

Arthur knew that things had gone wrong the instant he opened his eyes to find himself in his New York City apartment. He had meant to arrive in some place simple and nondescript, like a hotel room or something. Certainly not a place that was so connected to him and, by extension, connected to Eames.

“Fuck!” Arthur swore loudly, not caring that he should be staying calm.

“You always did curse so prettily when upset, precious.”

Arthur whirled around at the sound of the familiar roll of that deep, British accented voice. It was such a knee jerk reaction to search out the source of that voice that it made him ache, although he couldn’t tell whether it was with sorrow or longing. 

At least he was able to suppress the urge to flinch when he saw Eames—the projection of… Oh, fuck it—standing there in the kitchen. He didn’t have as much luck when it came to what he said, however.

“You know I never liked being called that.” 

His stomach clenched as Eames tipped his head back to laugh. “I would always use it anyway, though. Even though I knew you preferred—”

“Spare me,” Arthur bit out.

“Why, pet—” And Arthur’s spine snapped to attention at that, God damn him. “—one would almost think you don’t like me.”

“I don’t like you,” Arthur snapped. “And don’t call me that!”

Eames’ gaze turned cold, assessing and Arthur wanted to squirm at being looked at like one of the forger’s marks. “I know you’re lying…”   
Something wicked flashed across his face, something that should have warned Arthur. “…darling.”

Arthur couldn’t hide his reaction to that. He had been hit too suddenly with it to do so as Eames was sure to have known. So he went staggering back a step, hand shooting out to catch himself on the corner of the nearby table. “You are a bastard,” he hissed.

Eames just flashed him a grin. “Just like how you remember then,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, face almost softening. “And you’re just like how I remember too, Arthur.” His brow furrowed. “Almost at least. Have you gone back to your diet of coffee with the occasional bouts of actual food? And when was the last time you got a good night’s rest?”

Eames had always had a desire to look after those he cared for to the point of becoming like a mother hen of sorts, but as much as Arthur had griped about it, he had never really minded it. It was a way of knowing that Eames loved him after all. But when the projection behaved similar it just felt wrong. 

“Stop trying to be like him,” Arthur said.

That had Eames’ face reverting back to its former neutral coolness in a heartbeat. “Who am I suppose to be then, Arthur?” he asked. “This is what you made me to be.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head, hard enough to make it spin. “No, I would never want someone—something—like you in my head.”

“Ah, yes, you would.” The words were spoken in a scolding tone that was near to mocking and made Arthur grind his teeth together. “Because I’ve been here the whole time, haven’t I, Arthur?” 

Something in Arthur broke then without warning and before he could call it back. “Only in memory! So what if I still think about Eames? That’s not what this is about!” He could feel the corner of the table cutting into the palm of his hand from how tightly he was gripping onto it. “You insult what’s left of Eames just by existing,” he spat. 

He should have known to go on the defensive after that, noticed the way that Eames’ face turned hard, but he was too caught up in his anger. So his attempt at blocking from the other man’s sudden movement, only managed to be a raised arm that was quickly knocked away as he was knocked down onto the floor. 

Eames was over him before he could even think about getting up, bracketing him in with his arms. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, Arthur.” His voice was low, dangerous even if there wasn’t any anger in it. “You were the one who held on for so long that it manifested into this. You know what I’m talking about here, Arthur.”

Arthur knew that Eames would have to be able to feel how tense he was under him, but that didn’t stop him from lying anyway. He wondered if this projection knew all of his tells in the same way Eames had learned them all over the course of one job. “No, no, I don’t. I have know idea what’s going on so you need to—”

Eames sighed in a way that sounded like he was pitying Arthur for something. “Everyone else believes I’m dead, Arthur—they know it, as a matter of fact.”

The words were rushing up in Arthur before he could help it. “But they can’t know anything for certain like that. There was never any body to be found, nothing what so whatsoever. So until then…” He trailed off as Eames’ fingers brushed across his mouth. 

“Ah, but that’s just it, Arthur,” he murmured. “You don’t believe I’m dead—not like how the others do. You’re determined to cling onto the hope that I could still be out there somewhere. And that hope kept the memory of me alive—it made me.” He pressed his fingers down lightly on Arthur’s lips. “If you want me to disappear than you have to accept the fact that I’m dead outside of the dream.”

Arthur wanted to be able to protest that statement, to assert that he had come to believe just that. What else had he grieved for after a year of tearing apart every bit of information he had with Dom and Mal had resulted in nothing? It might have taken the better half of the next year for him to stop his eyes from snapping towards familiar looking traces and to stop hanging around the old haunts, but he had done it.

Hadn’t he?

Arthur snapped back to attention as Eames’ hand slid down to grip his chin. 

“Or you could just still refuse to give up,” Eames told him. “Then you could have me here and alive forever.”

“But you’re not real,” Arthur said.

The smile Eames gave him was equal parts sad and mocking. “Maybe not,” he said, “but I’m the best you’ve got.”

Arthur went rigid beneath Eames, his stomach flipping over so forcefully that he thought he was going to throw up. But instead his arms were snapping up so that he could catch Eames off guard and push him off of him. 

“Just stay away during jobs,” he said as he sat up.

Eames shot him a lazy glance from where he was laying on the ground. “Even if you need help?” he asked.

“I won’t need help,” Arthur said. 

He was vaguely aware of Eames sitting up as a handgun finally materialized in his hand. He closed his eyes as he felt well worn, callused hands enclosing his face, pressing the barrel against the side of his head. The last thing he heard before he pulled the trigger was the sound of his name.

Then he was waking up on the bed, not even bothering to remove the cannula before he rolled over onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself and giving way to sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

It didn’t take long at all for word of James to spread throughout the island, although given the size of the place Eames probably shouldn’t be all that surprised about that. Yet when they walked into the market square after a previous day devoted to recovering from hangovers, there was more than one curious look sent their way and a few furtive whispers.

“Are either of you going to tell me how I became the subject of such gossip?” James asked. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m surrounded by right now.”

Eva rolled her head to the side to look at him. “Oh, don’t be silly now. I know you’re more clever than that and the answer to that is so obvious.” She was currently nestled between the two men, her arms linked through one of theirs each.

She lolled her head back with a little huff when James still looked at her blankly. “You’re a newcomer. That’s the biggest invitation to gossip there is.”

“Well, yes, that goes without saying, but…” James trailed off, head tipping to the side to follow the gaze of an old woman who seemed determined to give him a mighty stink eye. “But that! Half of the people here are looking at me as though I committed some sort of crime.”

Eva stared up at him for about half a minute before her head tipped back to let loose a laugh. Eames tired to press his lips together to hide his own laughter once he figured it out, but a snort still escaped.

James just shook his head in exasperation at the two of them. “Oh, come on, what’s so damn funny?” he demanded.

Eva turned to press her face into James’s shoulder as she continued to giggle. She didn’t lift her head until James stopped altogether, causing her feet to stumble right along with Eames’. “Oh, please, there’s no need to play the brat. You would laugh too if you knew what it was about.”

James rolled his eyes towards the sky in a gesture of absolute exasperation. “Precisely, if I only knew…”

Eames shook his head with a half amused, half frustrated huff. “That’s enough dramatics, you two.” He began to walk again, leaving the other two with no other choice but to keep the same pace. He glanced over at James. “Don’t you get it? You’re the ‘other woman’.”

James’s eyes widened in surprise at first, but then he nearly doubled over laughing. “What did I do to gain such an illustrious title?” His gaze shifted between his two companions. “And who exactly am I stealing from who?”

Eva’s eyes were already twinkling mischievously. “Oh, I think I’m suppose to be the one at risk of that.” She let her arm slip free from Eames’ so that she could swat James on the shoulder. “You’re disturbing their betting pool, you naughty boy.”

“There’s a betting pool already, is there?” James caught Eva’s hand, spinning her out in a way that made her laugh with delight. “I can’t seem to go anywhere without causing a ruckus.”

“I thought that was my job!” Eva said with mock indignity. She dipped down into a simple but somehow elegant curtsey before tugging her hand free of James’s grasp. “Come along my boys, I know the perfect place here for homemade pastries and if we don’t get there soon they’ll all be gone!”

She skipped off across the cobblestones towards the place in question. Eames still wasn’t sure how she managed to do such a thing without tripping over her stilettos, whose heels looked like they might actually be able to slit a man’s throat if necessary.

Eames caught sight of the way that James was staring after her with a look of unabashed fondness on his face. The man turned towards him not long after, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh.

“Guess we should probably go after her, huh?” James held out his hand, raising an eyebrow when Eames didn’t take it right away.  
Eames still couldn’t do much but stare at it for a few more seconds before reaching out to take it. There was a small smile working it’s way onto his mouth as James tugged him off after Eva, rambling on about what kind of pastries he hoped the place would have.

\---

James wasn’t at all surprised that Eva sought him out after Eames had retired to his studio for the day. The British man had tried to tell them to go, insisting that they would only get bored waiting for him to be done. Eva had been quick to turn that on the head, however, by claiming that they would just prepare dinner while he was working.

And by that, of course, she meant that James would be getting dinner ready because Eva ruined just about everything she touched in the kitchen. James still wasn’t sure if he should believe her that the whole story about burning water had been a joke. 

If anyone could do it, after all, it would be Eva.

He let out a sigh as he felt her leaning up against him while he cut up the tomatoes that would be going into the sauce for the spaghetti.   
“Just get it over with, Eva,” he murmured. “I’m trying to work here.”

He didn’t have to look at Eva to know that she was grinning. He could already hear it in her voice. “You like this, don’t you?” she said. “Being able to cook for him, I mean.”

James moved away from her just a little as he scooped up the tomatoes to dump them in with the other ingredients. He could already feel her pressing right back against him, however. She was at his back this time, her lips all but touching his ear.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” she said. “You like this because it lets you feel like you’re taking care of him—just like it use to with me.” 

James turned to face her as she leaned back at last, taking in the way she was leaning against the counter with a wine glass in hand.

She hadn’t always been the elegant, well coiffed woman standing before him. Those parts of her had always been there—natural gifts that she had been born with—but she had hid them under layers of grime and sharp edges. All she had cared about was how she could get the next hit whether it was of pleasure, money, or whatever drugs she managed to find.

James had been the one to haul her right off the streets and gone through the hell of forcing her body to purge all the wrongs that she had stuffed it full of.

He couldn’t actually pinpoint the exact moment that he fell in love with her. It was almost as though he had just felt that way from the start. He didn’t try to force her to leave her job, nor did she request it of him. And even when she flew away to the island he didn’t fret. Because nothing could ever touch their bond, of that he was sure.

But then Eames had arrived, a man who James couldn’t fully believe was real from the way that Eva described him over the phone.

From the moment he met Eames, however, it had been just like Eva had spoken of in her drunken ramblings.

There was no way to be around Eames without falling in love with him.

Eva was smiling now, but it was one of her softer, more gentle ones. “I just didn’t expect you to imprint on him so fast.”

James rolled his eyes with a small huff. “Like you fared much better.” He ignored her indignant squawk, knowing it was half in jest. “I just didn’t expect him to be so…”

“Special,” Eva finished. There was something truly warm, sparkling within the deep blue depths of her eyes. “Yes, that is just the word I was thinking of too.”

James gave up any last pretense of working, settling his hands down on the counter. The words that he had been holding within himself for the past two days flowed out, but he felt no fear in admitting them. Eva would never judge anything that he said, after all. He didn’t doubt that she might even wind up agreeing with some of what he said.

“How is it possible for him to have gotten in so quickly? He’s just a guy. A handsome guy, but…” He hung his head with a sigh. “There’s just so much warmth in him, like it’s overflowing from him and he gives it away so freely. It makes me want to steal it all for myself, to just take and take for as long as I can. It’s so fucking selfish.”

He felt Eva’s arm wrapping around him and this time he was the one who leaned into her, arms reaching out for her almost by instinct.  
“No, no, James, you’re not being selfish—you’re being us.”

\---

Eames supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he wound up on his back on the bed by the end of the night. He was left wondering who would be the one to start, however, until Eva’s lips pressed against his, plush yet firm. James’s hands started working on his clothes next, causing him to arch up into each new touch.

It took him a little while to realize that Eva was talking, whispering words against his mouth. “Let us make you feel good, Eames, you know we can do it.”

Eames was still lost in a bit of a daze when he replied with, “Both of you?” There was a slight pause. “At the same time?”

Something pricked at the back of his mind—a flicker of his old humor—which reminded him that he had done this and far more crazy things before. Still, that had been then and this was now, and the separation between those two times had always been vastly different.

He could feel the vibrations of Eva’s laugh against his lips then hear it as she sat up. Everything below his waist had already been removed, but she was tugging his shirt off now as well.

He expected her tone to be teasing when she spoke, but it came out as close to indulgent instead. “Come now, my darling man, don’t you know that you can trust in us by now? You will enjoy every bit of what is to happen, of that I am sure.” 

She was sliding away then, tugging off the simple sundress of deep purple she had worn throughout the day. The lacy black undergarments underneath it were almost like lingerie. Eames would have wondered if that meant that she had been planning this from the start of the day if he hadn’t known that Eva adored such garments as part of her own code. 

He wasn’t given much time to admire how beautiful she looked like that—lovely curves already on display—before there was a finger pushing inside him. He arched off the bed when a second was added almost too soon, but he was still just loose enough from before to take it in stride.

Eva returned to kissing him as James worked him open with careful fingers, the now naked swell of her breasts pressing against his arm. It didn’t take long at all for tongues then teeth to get involved. 

It made Eames wonder how many times the two of them had done something like this. There was no doubt in his mind that the two of them would have shared their conquests in such a way. It would have seemed like the most normal thing in the world and it probably wouldn’t take much convincing to make the person in question to share such a view.

He could feel Eva laughing again at the whine he emitted once James removed his fingers and could hear James’s own, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He tried to reach for Eva as she sat up, only to have her bat his hands away gently. 

“But you…” His words faded away after Eva pressed a finger to his lips, a small smile already on her own.

“You don’t need to worry about my own pleasure,” she said. “I already have that well in hand.” She dragged her finger down, the tip of it catching on his bottom lip as it fell open in a gasp after James pushed inside of him.

Eames was only just starting to push down to meet James’s initial thrust when Eva lowered herself down onto his cock, making him thrust up instead.

His groan was tinged with only a bit of confusion as his body tried to move in two different directions at once still, but Eva was all too quick to run soothing hands down his chest. 

“Move as you like, mon garçon,” she murmured. “You do not have to worry about our pleasure when you already give it to us so freely.”

It was advice that Eames sought to follow as the affair went on, sparing an occasional push down or up for whatever gave him the most pleasure at the time. He would have laughed if he had the will left for it at how James and Eva fell into the same rhythm almost naturally.

It would seem he hadn’t been wrong to believe that this was something that the two of them had done before.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed since it all began but some point he realized that Eva’s breath was coming out in short little gasps like it always did when she was getting close. He reached out to fit his hands around her hips then, focusing on thrusting up into her, only to squirm when he felt James doing the same to him.

Eva was the first to come undone with a long, breathless moan, although Eames didn’t last long between her clamping down ever tighter around him and the way that James didn’t slow his thrusts down even a little.

Eva wound up draped across him in the end, arms wrapped loosely around his neck. She only slid off when James finished a few seconds later, causing Eames to let out a weak little groan. She wound up pressed up against him on one side while James pulled the covers up around them before settling in on Eames’ other side.

It was only until they had been lying there for a few minutes in a contented sort of silence that a rather jarring thought struck Eames.

“You didn’t let me put on a condom.” Something close to true distress grew within him when Eva only blinked up at him lazily. “You could have gotten pregnant.”

Eva rolled her shoulders into a slow, easy shrug, seemingly untouched by Eames’ current state. “Would it really be so bad if I did?” 

There was no way that Eames could hide the shock on his face at that or the way his body tensed up when they were all pressed so tightly together. “Eva, are you trying to—”

Eva was quick to cut him off with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, God, no, I’m on the pill for Christ’s sake. I only said it because…” She lowered her eyes, fingers playing idly with the hair on Eames’ chest. “I only thought I wouldn’t mind getting pregnant if it was going to be your child too.”

“And what about James?” Eames asked. He was trying to make the conversation at least a little lighter, although he realized he was probably failing. “What is he? Chopped liver?”

“No, no, I get what she means,” James said. And of course he did. Eames was seriously starting to wonder if James and Eva weren’t secretly the same person. “If the child got to be a part of you too then it would be good. It wouldn’t be as bad as us.”

“Are you serious?” Eames couldn’t help the slight scoffing noise that escaped him at how the two people besides him remained silent in response to the question. “You do realize how ridiculous that is, don’t you? Neither of you are ‘bad’.” 

Eva spoke so softly that her answer was very nearly lost in the way that her mouth was pressed against Eames’ arm, making it come out muffled already. “But we are.”


End file.
